


cradled in impossibility

by wrennette



Series: jangobi week 2021 [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Blanket Permission, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Planet Tatooine (Star Wars), Post-AotC, Pre-ANH, don't copy or post to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29167713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: "Something - weird - happened," Jango says, because he desperately needs to either confirm his suspicions or be told he's finally gone 'round the bend.Jango wakes up someplace he didn't expect to be.
Relationships: Boba Fett & Jango Fett, Boba Fett & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jango Fett & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: jangobi week 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141214
Comments: 26
Kudos: 252
Collections: Jangobi Week





	cradled in impossibility

**Author's Note:**

> for the @jangobiweek prompt: dayy two - time travel. 
> 
> i had this idea at stupid-o'clock last night so it's not as developed as i might like, but it got stubborn about getting where i wanted it to go so. here we are.

Jango growls, furiously flipping switches and poking at buttons. The readouts on his console don't change. He's going down, and if he doesn't burn up in reentry, he's going to have a very rough landing.

"Buir?" Boba asks quietly, and Jango bites back another growl, hating the fear that laces his son's voice. 

"Strap in, crash position," Jango orders grimly. He pulls his helmet from its cubby and gently slips it over Boba's head. It might not do much. But anything is better than nothing at this point.

Jango grits his teeth as the hull goes white hot as they hit the upper layers of the atmosphere. He can barely see through the viewscreen, and the gyroscopic reorientation systems were going haywire, further reducing his ability to steer. Mentally, Jango starts chanting, reciting the names of his ancestors and begging them to watch over him and Boba, pleading for more time. Boba's only five, and Jango has so much to teach him still.

In the desert far below, the Force churns, and Obi-Wan's stomach imitates it. He sips at his tea, trying to reach serenity. The suns are barely up, and he dreads what the full light of day will bring. 

When the tea is all gone, Obi-Wan rises. Whatever is coming, it seems, will not be dissuaded. He dresses and begins his chores, sweeping the sand away from his doorstep and checking on the vaporators, tending to the aeroponics setup in the basement, feeding his eopie, walking out to greet the banthas. 

Obi-Wan follows the tracks of the banthas up into the wastes. He greets the guard massiffs when they slink out of the shadows of the rocks, and waves greetings to the Tuskens who remain up in the outcropping. They lift their rifles and gaderffii in response, and a few of those nearer sign their greetings. 

Not having any news to exchange, Obi-Wan presses on. He's never felt the Force like this before, and it unsettles him, makes him restless. He pauses only to sip at his canteen, feet drawing him onwards. Obi-Wan doesn't know what he's headed towards until a shooting star sears down in front of him, burning into the sands with a shockwave of sound. 

For a long moment, Obi-Wan just stares. His skin stings from the sand that had blasted past him, and he can feel the heat of the meteor strike. But that - that is no meteor, he realizes after a few moments. That is a ship, half slagged from a disastrous uncontrolled atmospheric entry. 

Hiking up the long skirts of his robes, Obi-Wan races toward the crash site. The ship's hot enough that the crater it rests in has turned from sand to glass, still molten near the ship itself. The hull is dripping liquid metal, and as Obi-Wan approaches, the reinforced transparisteel of the cockpit envelope finishes melting down the front of the vessel. 

The air hazes around the ship, and Obi-Wan stares, because despite the heat shimmer, Obi-Wan is almost certain he recognizes those figures. He steels himself, then leaps.

* * *

Distant, garbled words sound, rising and falling on an unfamiliar melody. Jango fights to remember where he is, why he hurts. A cool hand presses against his head, and a thick liquid trickles past his lips. He swallows without thinking. 

"He's awake!" Boba's familiar voice shouts eagerly, and memory surges to the surface. His ship damaged, the heat of uncontrolled atmospheric entry. The hull melting around them, and the air going thin as the cabin depressurized. But he can hear Boba, and it sounds like his son is fine. Something in Jango unwinds, relaxes.

"So he is," a gentle voice says, and Jango only realizes that there are dressings plastered over his face and arms when they're changed. The fresh dressings are cool and soothing, and Jango sighs slightly. More of the thick liquid trickles into his mouth, and he swallows again, if only so he can stop tasting it - whatever it is, it tastes disgusting. "Peace, Fett, you're on Tatooine, and doing surprisingly well for a dead man. Your son is safe, and so are you."

Jango drifts, not wholly trusting the disembodied voice, but too weak to do much about it. Slowly, the fuzziness of sedation retreats. He shifts, feeling the bedding that cocoons him. The sheets are cobweb light, but over his legs a heavier covering rests, promising warmth during the chilly desert nights. Tatooine. They'd said he is on Tatooine. Filthy Hutt-ridden dustball. He grumbles.

"Are you awake dear?" the gentle voice asks, and Jango grumbles again. Evidently that owner of the voice is practiced at deciphering such wordless complaining. This time the liquid he's fed is a thin broth. It's salty but otherwise bland. Jango is hungry enough that it tastes like the finest meal in creation, especially in comparison to the previous liquid. "I can't give you too much," the voice says apologetically. "I hadn't planned on taking in two guests this week." Jango tilts his head slightly, intending to nod his understanding, but pausing when his head and neck flare with pain. "Easy," the voice says, and gentle hands smooth a cool cream over him. 

Jango forces himself to lay still. Hours pass into days. He listens to Boba pester their host, who Boba calls Ben. He listens to Ben go over learning modules with Boba, and in so doing learns that while they're on Tatooine, it is very different from what Jango remembers. His gut churns as Ben tells Boba about the Empire, and the war. Jango's no saint, and no idiot. The war can only be the one he was contracted to provide an army for, and it's clear that neither the Republic nor the Separatists had won. But the war hasn't started yet. Confusion, as much as pain, keeps Jango from speaking as he heals.

By Jango's best guess, he's been drifting between sleep and half-waking for well over a week by the time he manages to get his eyes open. Sometimes he wakes at night to hear Ben gasping out quiet tears, or bustling about in the chill darkness. He lays still those nights, curious but not wanting to be too much a bother when this man holds his life and Boba's in his hands.

Jango's alone when he finally cracks his eyes. The hut is all one room, really, so once he has his eyes open, it's not difficult to learn the layout. The bed on which he rests is really just a shelf built into an alcove, and in front of it a small circular table is piled with medical supplies and the detritus of packaging from the supplies already used. Beyond that is another small table, this one containing toys and datapads, clearly where Boba and Ben have been spending much of their time. 

Before Jango can learn too much more from his surroundings, the door opens, and Boba tumbles in, talking a klick a minute. Jango croaks out a rasping sound at the sight of his boy, tanned and happy, and Boba grins broadly, darting over chanting "buir, buir, buir!" in excited yelps. Jango groans as Boba all but climbs on top of him, but carefully tries to raise his arms to enclose Boba in a hug. 

The man who follows Boba into the hut is tall and lean, and for a moment, when he first steps in, swathed in dark veiling like that of a Tuskan. But he pushes back the hood and unwinds the wrapping about his head to bare a pale face framed with unruly ginger hair and a rough beard. He shrugs out of his cloak and hangs it up, lifting the skirts of his long desert robes to step out of his sturdy boots. 

"Take your boots off please dear," the man says, and his voice is the soothing, gentle one that Jango has been listening to these past days. Ben. Ben who has taught Boba the Mando history and Mando'a that Jango avoided. Ben who sings Boba to sleep and gives him treats. Ben who tells stories of adventures on distant planets. Adventures that Jango suspects might be based on the life Ben has lived. 

Jango lets out another croak, and Ben crosses to him, gently lifting Jango's head and helping him drink some of the thick liquid he's become somewhat accustomed to. It isn't very tasty, but it's wet, and that's all Jango really wants at the moment. 

Boba's managed to get his boots off by the time Jango finishes that first drink, and with a grin, Boba burrows against Jango's chest. Overhead, Ben chuckles softly, and reaches down to ruffle Boba's curls. Jango pries his gaze away from his son, and looks back up at Ben. Feeling Jango's eyes on him, Ben smiles slightly. 

"Something - weird - happened," Jango says, because he desperately needs to either confirm his suspicions or be told he's finally gone 'round the bend. 

"Yes," Ben agrees. "You died oh - about eight years ago now. I wasn't kidding when I said you look quite well for a dead man." At Jango's side, Boba lets out a small, pained noise, but doesn't seem surprised.

"The war?" Jango asks, and Ben nods. 

"You died in the battle that kicked it off," Ben says, and while his tone and expression are placid, Jango can't help feeling that Ben is judging him, just a little. He doesn't say anything - he's judging himself. It sounds like Ben had known him, even if Jango doesn't recognize him.

"Tell me," Jango demands, and Ben cocks his head. 

"Boba says he's five, so in about five years in your future, I'd find Kamino," Ben says. He hesitates, eyes going somewhat distant. "Tyranus - did you know he was Sith?" Jango blinks, then blinks again. 

"No," Jango says, heart dropping through the floor. His negation is both an acknowledgement that he hadn't known, and a denial of the truth. Ben gives him a thin, wry smile that assures Jango that at least in this universe, Tyranus was a Sith.

"Yes," Ben says, placid but unyielding. He reaches out, hand hovering over Jango's forehead. "He doesn't seem to have actively influenced you, just - kept you out of the loop. Told you only what he wanted you to know and you wanted to hear." Ben drops his hand back to his side, and smiles again. The expression conveys only pain and sorrow. 

"Your army was magnificent. Some of the bravest soldiers I have ever seen. They died, by the millions, for a Republic that saw them as little more than droids. They were some of my dearest friends and companions. And nearly my death, as they were the death of the rest of my people," Ben says. Jango's stomach drops to rest with his heart beneath the floor. 

"Jedi," Jango says, fitting the pieces together, and Ben dips his head in acknowledgement.

"One of the last," Ben says, still smiling. The hatred Jango has felt so many years at the mere thought of the Jedi doesn't well up. Instead, he feels only pity and weariness. The Jedi are gone, if Ben speaks the truth, and Jango can think of no reason for him to lie. All Jango feels is a hollow sort of pain. 

Jango almost wishes he could feel some sort of pride, that the clones had destroyed his hated enemy. But all he can think of is Ben gently helping Boba learn Mando'a. Ben bathing Jango's face. Ben changing the dressings on his wounds, helping him drink and piss into a waste receptacle so Jango didn't foul the bed. Ben has known from the start who Jango is, what Jango has done, and he has given Jango nothing but kindness and care.

"I'm sorry," Jango says, and Ben tilts his head slightly. 

"For what?" Ben asks. "Did you know the 'troopers would turn on us?"

"No," Jango admits. "I knew there was a trap somewhere, but - no, I didn't know they would kill the Jedi."

Ben is still smiling mildly, but it looks a bit brittle at the edges. "You were chosen for a reason, Jedi-killer," Ben says, and his tone is as serene as ever but the accusation strikes home like a well placed blade. Jango gasps, and the sharp breath sets him to coughing. "Easy," Ben says, and slowly Jango calms, and the coughing subsides. "I apologize, that was uncalled for," Ben says, and Jango snorts. 

"It is true," Jango says, and Ben helps him drink a little more of the disgusting liquid. "What _is_ that?" Jango asks with a grimace, and Ben laughs at him, his smile becoming a bit more sincere. 

"The milk of a black melon, the Tuskens raise them, and they're a very good source of water," Ben says. "Boba's been helping me hunt them up. I think he's nearly talked a massiff pup out of the Tuskens already." Jango snorts at that. He doesn't remember being half as manipulatively charming in his youth as Boba, but he loves that facet of his son as much as every other bit of him. "And just because something is true," Ben says, turning back to their conversation, "doesn't mean I should have said it." Jango nods, acknowledging that. Still. 

"Forgiven," Jango says. There's so much he wishes to say, and yet he doesn't know how. The past cannot be changed. Unless he can find a way back, there's nothing he can do to unmake the horrors Ben has lived. "I'm sorry too," he says, and Ben's smile softens into something sincere.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @wrennette on tumblr, dreamwidth, and pillowfort, feel free to come say hi!


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